


love you(the way i want to)

by darkangel0410



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alpha/Alpha, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Coming Out, Frottage, Knotting, M/M, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Rough Sex, Scent Marking, Scenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-11-07
Packaged: 2019-07-24 12:49:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16175405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkangel0410/pseuds/darkangel0410
Summary: On July 1st, just after one in the afternoon, John signs a seven-year, eleven million dollar deal with the Rangers.For the first time in almost two years, it feels like he can breathe again.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I had planned on having this posted before July 1st, but obviously that didn't happen, so have some late free agency fic! Hope you guys enjoy.

John’s always done what was expected of him: by his parents, by the fans, by management. What he wants gets lost in the shuffle sometimes, but he knows he has to figure out what he’s doing, what he _wants_ , for the next seven or eight years of his career. For his life.

He wants to win and play well, and not have to worry about where his team is going to be playing next season. Leading up to July, it was an itch under his skin, distracting him from training and everything else. It was worse than his ruts were, because then he knew exactly what he had to do to get rid of it. This just built and built all through April and May until June, while he watched other teams play for the Cup. 

John knows what’s expected of him: sign an extension, play for the Islanders for the next seven or eight years and keep hoping that they had enough to be a serious contender. His parents expected it of him. Management. The fans. His agent. The team.

He put off signing for months, trying to delay the inevitable, while he watched the Devils beat the Kings in six games and felt like he was never going to be the one in that position. He calls his agent the next morning, has a ten minute conversation and then puts it out of his mind to go to the gym.

On July 1st, just after one in the afternoon, John signs a seven year, eleven million dollar deal with the Rangers. 

For the first time in almost two years, it feels like he can breathe again. 

*

There’s a lot of alphas on the Rangers, something John tries hard to ignore; he’s past the age where he has to will away hard-ons in the locker room, but for all that he’s carefully trained himself to not look at anyone on his team, all the strange scents make it difficult for him to remember where he’s at.

John appreciates the easy acceptance his new teammates have shown him so far and he doesn’t plan on doing anything to jeopardize it any time soon. But it’s harder than he thought it would be.

Kreider settles next to him, the amber and cedar undertones of his scent almost overwhelming John; it makes him want to bury his nose in Kreider’s shoulder, wallow there until it surrounds him, until that’s all he can smell.

He’s been attracted to other alphas for as long as he can remember, but it’s never been this distracting for him before. 

John tries to tell himself it’s just his unfamilarity with his new teammates in general, and Kreider in particular, but he knows it’s a lie as soon as he thinks it.

*

Kreider gets put on his line during practice and stays there all through pre-season; they’re good together, always able to find each other on the ice and they score some pretty goals leading up to opening night.

The guys chirp him about having eyes in the back of his head and being a steadying influence for Kreids who’s usually a cannonball all over the ice; John flushes at the ribbing because it’s Kreids scent that John finds on the ice without fail, amber and cedar easily standing out from all the other scents and smells during a game.

John grins and chirps them back about being jealous, but it doesn’t help stop his pulse from tripping every time Kreids smiles at him or the way desire pools in his stomach when he catches his scent away from the locker room.

John knows it’s only a matter of time before Kreids realizes _something's_ going on, even if he doesn’t know exactly what it is. And for all the gossip he’s heard about Kreids over the years, Kreids fucking around with one of his teammates didn’t feature in any of it. 

He doesn’t remember it being this much of a struggle when he was younger, but John’s not really the same person he was when he was eighteen. 

That John thought he had to be what everyone wanted him to be, that living up to everyone else’s expectations was the price he paid for playing hockey.

Now John knows better, knows that he doesn’t have to be what everyone else thinks he should be. 

And he’s so tired of doing what he’s suppose to.

*

The season starts with a bang: they beat the Devils in their own building, 5-2, and put a huge damper on their banner-raising. John has two goals and assists on both of Kreids and it feels like something of a vindication for him.

They get back to the city early and a bunch of them decide to go out for drinks to celebrate; John goes and ends up doing five or six shots as soon as they get settled into a booth in the back corner on the first floor.

Pretty soon, everyone’s scattered across the club, trying to pick up or get free drinks, and John’s trying to decide if he’s going to get a drink and find someone to hang out with or just sit here and maybe take a quick nap, when Kreids slides into the booth next to him and hands him a bottle.

It’s light beer and John makes a face but drinks it anyway.

“I know, it’s not whiskey, but you can make do with beer for a little bit,” Kreids laughs, settling into the booth; he rests his arm along the back of the seat, his leg presses against John’s and John feels warm all over. “Never took you for a drinker, JT,” he adds, still smiling.

“Only sometimes,” John tells him, vaguely aware that his words are starting to slur; he really doesn’t drink that much and the shots are hitting him harder than he thought they would. “Need a good reason,” he adds as he puts the beer bottle on the table and gives into the urge to lean against Kreids.

Kreids hums in agreement but doesn’t say anything, just sips his own beer and looks around the club; John feels warm and comfortable, desire threading through his system, slow and muffled, and he’s happy to be where he’s at and with this team.

He turns into Kreids side, presses his face against Kreids neck and inhales deeply. “You smell so good,” John mutters.

“What’s that,” Kreids says, looking down at John as best as he can with John plastered against him; he looks amused more than anything else and his arm drops down around John’s shoulders, pulling him a little closer.

“You smell so good,” John repeats, raising his voice enough to be heard over the thumping bass; he rubs his face against against Kreids’s neck and takes another deep breath.

Kreids tenses for a second before he tries to get untangled. “You’re drunk, JT,” he says firmly, “go sober up, I’m going to head out.”

“No,” John complains, fisting one of his hands into Kreid’s shirt; he’s pretty drunk, sure, but he _always_ thinks Kreids smells amazing and suddenly it’s important to him that Kreids understands what he’s saying. “You’re not _listening_ , you smell like this no matter what, even when you’re gross you still smell like the best thing I ever saw.”

Kreids scent goes sharp and it takes John’s alcohol heavy brain a few seconds to process it as desire and John can’t help the happy rumble he lets out; Kreids stops pulling away from John, but he doesn’t relax right away, either.

“Alright, let’s talk about this tomorrow,” Kreids finally says, “when one of us isn’t too drunk to stand up,” he adds, sounding amused again.

“I’m not,” John mumbles, but he’s too happy Kreids isn’t leaving to really do much of anything but rest all his weight against him and make happy growling noises.

“Sure, buddy,” Kreids laughs and then he’s talking to someone else, but John isn’t really paying attention, content to stay where he is and breathe in amber and cedar.

He loses track of time after that; he remembers talking to some of the guys as they came back to the booth, but his brain’s fuzzy, and he’s starting to get sleepy, the exhilaration and adrenaline from winning starting to fade.

“Time to go,” Kreids tells him a little while later; he snickers when John protests sleepily, trying to stay pressed against Kreids. “Come on, light-weight, you can come sleep it off at my place, it’s closer.”

“See you at practice, old man,” someone calls out and there’s more laughter when John flips them off.

Kreids gets them outside and then into a cab; it doesn’t take long before they’re heading into the lobby of Kreids apartment building, the elevator ride seems to take no time at all and almost before he knows what’s going on, Kreids is pushing him onto a bed and telling him to at least take off his shoes before he passes out.

John manages to get one of them before he’s cuddling into the pillows, only a little sad that they smell like fabric softener instead of Kreids.

He thinks Kreids is still talking but he just waves a hand at him and falls asleep.

*

John wakes up feeling muzzy headed and like something died in his mouth; he sits up slowly, cautious in case his stomach rebels or his head decides to explode, but it’s not too bad: just a small headache and a queasy stomach.

He spots the gatorade on the nightstand and starts drinking it while he looks around the room; it’s clearly a guest room, plain white walls with white blinds and a couple paintings hanging up.

It’s not bad, just obviously not-lived in, but John’s still staying at a hotel, so Kreids is one up on him just by having a guest room in the first place.

He hears someone moving around and winces; he remembers draping himself on Kreids and babbling about his scent and John can feel himself flush at the memories. He supposes drunk at a bar isn’t the worst place he could have chosen to hit on a teammate.

John takes a couple more minutes to get himself in order, then he gets up and slowly follows the sounds down a short hallway with closed doors on either side until he steps out into the living room and he can see Kreids cooking in the kitchen, hair a mess, wearing sweats and a worn Eagles t-shirt that’s tight across his shoulders and biceps.

The smell of bacon and eggs mix with Kreids scent and John has to swallow hard to keep from drooling all over himself.

He’s not sure how long he’s been standing there staring when Kreids glances over his shoulder and smiles. “Hey, I was going to wake you up in a minute, food’s almost done.”

“Oh, thanks for cooking,” John tells him as he makes his way over to the island where Kreids has some plates set up; he hesitates, not sure if he should sit down and it’s not until Kreids turns around and starts putting the scrambled eggs on the plates, that John moves.

“Figured you could use the grease,” Kreids smirks when John looks at the plate of bacon he brings over next with undisguised longing; he gives John most of the bacon and puts a couple on his own plate before going to the fridge and pulling out two large drink containers. “You’re having a protein shake with it, though, no reason to completely toss out the diet plan,” he adds, sliding one of the shakes in front of John and settling down in his own seat.

It’s quiet for a few minutes while they eat, both of them concentrating on their food; John relaxes a little, the grease from the bacon helping to settle his stomach down and the eggs taste amazing, better than anything he’s ever managed to cook for breakfast before.

“Holy shit, that was amazing,” John says when he’s done, sighing heavily and starting to sip his shake; sandalwood weaves through Kreids normal scent, along with sunshine, and sure enough when he looks at Kreids, he’s smiling and preening at John’s praise, just a little bit.

“Thanks, nice to know that I’m good for something besides hockey,” Kreids tells him as he gathers up their dishes; it’s obviously just a joke, but John feels himself flush anyway, thinking of something that’s decidedly not cooking, and hopes his scent doesn’t give him away.

Kreids smirks at him over his shoulder while he’s loading the dishwasher and John blushes even harder, looking away from Kreids to concentrate on the rest of his drink and tries to calm himself down.

It works for the most part, his ears and face still feel warm when Kreids sits back down, but it’s nowhere close to as hot as he felt a few minutes ago.

“So. Last night,” Kreids says, tapping his fingers on the countertop.

“Sorry,” John mutters and hunches his shoulders, keeps his eyes on the empty cup in his hands, “I shouldn't have acted like that, probably.”

“No,” Kreids agrees, but he doesn’t actually sound mad, more amused than anything and when John sniffs the air cautiously, the bright smell of oranges confirms it. “I was more surprised than anything else,” he goes on slowly, almost like he’s weighing each word for special meaning. His scent doesn’t change, though, and it helps John stay calm while Kreids talks. “I didn’t know you were gay, too.”

It takes John a few seconds to breathe again, to concentrate on keeping his breathing steady when he does. It’s different to hear it said out loud like that, makes it feel more true. It’s surreal to him, almost, that he’s having this conversation with the guy he thought about when he jerked off the other night before anyone else. “I am,” John finally says, willing his heart to stop beating so fast. “Well, bi, I guess, since I like some omegas sometimes. But I didn’t know you were, not really,” he adds, looking at Kreids for a second before he ducks his head again, “I heard some rumors, but that’s it.”

John wonders if maybe that was the wrong thing to say, but Kreids just nods like that’s what he expected to hear.

“I’m surprised you didn’t get blow-by-blow details,” he grins, the scent of oranges strong in John’s nose, “I got caught with my pants down a ton.”

John smiles back at him, but he can’t help but think about Kreids naked and he hopes his scent isn’t giving him away too much.

Kreids looks him over again, but this time his scent goes sharp and his eyes are dark, and it makes John swallow loudly, unsure what to do, but wanting so much he could only imagine what it was doing to his scent.

“Ok, I think,” Kreids pauses for a second, takes a deep breath and leans forward so they’re seeing almost eye-to-eye instead of Kreids looking down at him, “I’m attracted to you, too, and I don’t know how much, uh, experience you have. With other alphas.”

“Just, you know, handies in juniors,” John tells him, blushing a little; he lets himself shift around so he’s closer to Kreids than he was a few seconds ago. “I don’t know how much that counts.”

“Well, it doesn’t _not_ count,” Kreids laughs, his dimples flashing; John feels his heart start beating harder in response, his face turning even redder, and not for the first time John wishes he didn’t blush so often or easily.

“I was going to ask you if you wanted to stay here until you found a place,” Kreids goes on, voice turning serious, “because no should be subjected to hotels at home _and_ on roadies, but I get it if you don’t want to. Even if you do, I think we should take our time with this,” Kreids finishes, motioning between the two of them like there’s any way John didn’t know what he was talking about.

“Yeah, I think so, too,” John agrees, ducking his head a little, “I’ve never really been in this position before and I don’t want to fuck up the team or anything.”

It’s true, as far as it goes, because John doesn’t want the team to get weird around either one of them, but he’s also pretty sure he could be slowly dying and he’d be able to ignore it and just play hockey. It’s nerves and maybe a little fear that makes him want to take things slow, but he doesn’t want to tell Kreids that.

“Awesome,” Kreids says warmly, the sunshine filtering through his scent backing up the words, “Let's go watch a movie, I think _Porky’s_ is on Netflix again.”

“I’ve never seen _Porky’s_ before,” John admits, grinning at Kreids look of outrage.

“You Canadians,” Kreids tells him, shaking his head in mock outrage; his scent is warm and happy as he slings an arm around John’s shoulders as they leave the table and tows him towards the living room. “Come on, it’s time you saw an American classic.”

They spend all afternoon watching movies, pressed against each other on Chris’s giant couch, and when John leaves to go back to the hotel, he feels happier than he has in a while.

* 

The season goes on and they finish October strong, going 5-2-1, and head out west for their first long roadie of the year.

John usually sits by Quickie on plane trips, because they both like to put headphones on and sleep for the entire time, but it’s not set in stone, so when Chris drops into the seat next to him no one else really notices or at the very least, they don’t comment on it.

“Hey,” John says, trying to hide his smile; he can feel himself flush and he doesn’t want to know what his own scent is doing right now, with Chris so close to him. It’s been good between them so far, spending time together away from the team, and getting to know each other outside of hockey.

They haven’t said anything to the team yet, but John knows it’s only a matter of time before they figure out _something’s_ going on, just from the way their scents are around each other; John can’t scent himself, but Chris smells of lavender and sunflowers around him now, mixed with his normal amber and cedar, and it seems impossible to John that no one knows what’s going on.

“Hey,” Chris echoes, brushing their shoulders together when he leans into John’s space; the height and weight difference between them makes John feel _small_ sometimes, like Chris could overpower him whenever he wants, and John’s still trying to get used to how much he likes it, even when his instincts kick in and tell him he shouldn’t let another alpha dominate him like that. Maybe especially then. 

“You want to go get something to eat later?” Chris goes on, his voice pitched low enough that no one around them can hear what they’re talking about. 

John hesitates for a few seconds before nodding; they’ve never gone out together while they were on the road where it would be easier for the other guys to notice what they were doing. It still scares John a little, the idea of other people finding out about them, but hiding wouldn’t do anything but hurt them in the long run, and Chris deserves better than that. And so does he.

And it’s easy to work through that little bit of fear John has left when Chris smiles softly at him, his scent bright and happy, before he pulls his tablet out of his bag and relaxes back into the seat; John growls playfully when he sees Chris is watching the new Game of Thrones episode and it makes Chris laugh, oranges overpowering everything else in his scent.

“Fine, fine, I’ll save it for after dinner,” Chris tells him, pulling something else up to watch for the flight; he presses their legs together, and it makes John blush while he settles in with his own headphones and music, letting the familiar motion of the plane lull him to sleep.

John wakes up with his face buried in Chris’s neck, the mellow scent of contentment wrapped around him, Chris’s normal amber and cedar layered underneath it and makes John growl, low in his throat, before he rubs his cheek along Chris’s neck scenting him lightly.

Chris growls back at him, demanding in a way that makes John’s breath catch in his chest; desire and need wash out everything else in Chris’s scent and it makes John want to bite at Chris’s jaw, drag his teeth along Chris’s throat until Chris presses him against the floor, until there’s nothing else between them.

“Jesus, John,” Chris says quietly, his voice strained, “fuck, you’re killing me, babe.”

A part of John wants to climb in Chris’s lap, wants Chris’s hands on him _right now_ , no matter who’s around them, but he knows better, even if he half-heartedly wishes he didn’t; he presses a soft kiss to the skin under Chris’s jaw, where his scent’s strong and warm and makes John _want_ even more than he already does, and then pulls away, settles back into his seat and tries to think of something else.

“Sorry,” John says sheepishly, staring up at the ceiling while he concentrates on breathing evenly. “I, uh, didn’t realize I was all,” he trails off, finally just shrugging when he can’t figure out what to say.

“It’s alright, instincts fuck with the best of us,” Chris tells him, smiling easily, the bright scent of oranges helping John relax enough that he’s no longer sitting ramrod straight in his seat. 

John looks around, glad to see that everyone close to them is either sleeping or pretending to be; whenever they tell the team, _whatever_ they tell them, he doesn’t want it to be on the plane because they got caught all over each other.

*

After dinner they go back to Chris’s room to watch _Game of Thrones_ and Chris gives John something to change into so he doesn’t wrinkle his clothes; the clothes have Chris’s scent all over them and if John takes a minute to smell them when he’s alone in the bathroom, well. No one has to know but him.

The shorts hang a little lower on his hips than John usually wore them, but he was reasonably sure they wouldn’t fall off while he was walking around; the shirt’s old and soft to the touch, dark red with Chris’s name and college number on the back of it, and John’s already trying to think of a way to keep it after tonight. 

He leaves the bathroom and carefully drapes his dress pants and shirt over the armchair in the corner of the room; once it’s arranged the way John wants, he turns around and Chris is looking at him like he wants to pin him to the bed.

John takes a deep breath and Chris’s scent is thick in his nose, sharp with desire and John gets hard so fast it almost hurts and the only thought in his head as he stumbles over to the bed where Chris is sitting is that he wants Chris’s hands on him _now_.

As soon as he’s close enough to touch, Chris grabs his wrist and tugs him onto the bed so he lands on top of him; it only lasts for a few seconds before Chris rolls them over so John’s pinned under him. There’s a part of him wants to bare his teeth at Chris, throw him off and wrestle around until John was the one on top, but there’s something so hot about letting Chris manhandle him like this and sometimes it surprises John just how much he likes it.

“Fuck, you look so good,” Chris tells him, voice rough; he rubs his cheek along John’s jaw before he drags his teeth down John’s throat, just enough pressure to be a tease, and smirks when John whines. “In my clothes, with my name on your back,” he adds with a growl and bites John’s neck. It’s not hard enough to leave any kind of real bruise, and nowhere near close to being a bond-bite, but suddenly John wants that, wants Chris to mark him up so everyone knows Chris is _his_ , that they chose each other to belong to. 

“Chris,” John says, grabs Chris’s shirt so he can pull him up for a kiss, “come on, please.”

Chris bites at John’s jaw and then kisses him roughly, growling when John kisses him back; John feels more than a little out of control, like he’s going to burn up with how much he wants this.

“Fuck, take this off,” John demands when Chris pulls away to bite his neck again; he tugs on Chris’s shirt, pushes it up so he can get his hands on the skin of Chris’s back.

Chris sits up and smirks at him, leans back so his weight is resting on John’s thighs and pulls his shirt up over his head; there’s a second where John has to fight the urge to bare his teeth at Chris, his instincts telling him to fight the alpha that’s pinning him to the bed.

It must show on his face because Chris leans down so his mouth brushes against John’s ear when he talks. “You want to fight, baby?” Chris asks with a grin that’s almost feral in it’s intensity. “I promise I don’t mind.”

The endearment makes John flush even redder, heat pooling in his stomach even as he growls at Chris in warning; he tries to shift his weight so he can throw Chris off of him, unbalance him so he can roll them over and be on top. But Chris adjusts his own weight quickly, easily keeping John pressed into the mattress with the extra muscle he put on over the summer.

“Fuck,” John manges to get out when Chris leans down and drags his teeth down John’s throat; it’s rougher this time, a clear intent from Chris to mark John’s neck up. John threads his fingers through Chris’s hair and pulls on it to urge him up for another kiss, all thoughts of fighting gone from his mind. 

Chris bites his neck, sinks his teeth into the muscle there, and moves his leg so his thigh presses against John’s cock; it makes John moan loudly, the pain and pleasure mixing together until John’s not sure which is which any more and it doesn’t take long for him to come.

John blinks his eyes open when Chris bites his jaw and then whines, low in his throat and desperate, and his hands feel slow and clumsy when he grabs Chris’s shoulder. “Come here,” John tells him, the words barely louder than a whisper; he still feels lethargic from his orgasm, so it feels almost like he’s moving at half-speed when he pulls at the waistband of the sweats Chris still has on.

“No, just,” Chris says and bats away John’s hands impatiently so he can just rub off against John’s thigh.

John thinks maybe he should be embarrassed that he’s too come dumb to even jerk Chris off but he’s still too blissed out from coming so hard that he really can’t muster the energy to do anything besides press kisses to Chris’s jaw and neck when he slumps on top of him, panting from his own orgasm. Chris turns his head and kisses him back, slow and sweet, and John feels warmth pool in his stomach for a completely different reason. 

“That was good,” John murmurs when Chris pulls away to scent him, rubs his cheek along John’s jaw and neck before he settles down on his side next to John.

“Really good,” Chris agrees with a playful smirk, his scent bright with oranges and sunflowers; it makes John’s heart swell, to know that he gets to have this with Chris, that they’re in this together.

He yawns a little, ready to crash, and he lets Chris move him around until he’s curled around John, their legs tangled together and Chris’s arm over his waist.

“Sleep, we can shower in the morning,” Chris tells him, but John’s already half-asleep, exhausted after really good sex the way he always is.

“I’m keeping the shirt,” John mutters as he falls asleep, knows Chris hears him from the soft laughter that he catches right as he’s passing out.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have some smut, enjoy!

“Is this what you want, Johnny, for me to hold you down and make you take my knot?” Chris says, a low growl threading the words; he squeezes the back of John’s neck and pushes his face down against the bed, the scent of the two of them and sex thick in his nose. “To fuck you until you can’t breathe and you’re still begging for more?”

“Fuck, yes,” John manages to get out, almost panting in his eagerness; Chris presses his weight along John’s back, teeth sinking into his shoulder, and there’s an instant when John shifts away from him, instinct demanding that he stop letting another alpha dominate him this way, but Chris growls again and sets his teeth in John’s neck this time, high enough up that there won’t be any hiding the marks from it, and bites down. It makes John whimper and relax in a rush, the temporary desire to fight Chris gone.

“There you go, baby,” Chris croons, pressing a soft kiss to John’s neck where his teeth were a second ago; it sends a jolt down John’s spine, pain spiked with pleasure that makes him moan, and he’s so turned on, knot throbbing at the base of his cock, and feeling Chris press against his ass, thick and hard, only makes him feel more desperate. Chris sits back on his heels and runs a soothing hand down John’s back when he whines. “I’m right here, just have to get the lube.”

Chris leaves his hand on John, drags it down to the swell of John’s ass and squeezes; it’s not hard, it’s barely anything, really, but it makes John’s breath catch and he can’t help the way he pushes back into the touch, wanting more. Every touch of Chris’s hands on his skin feels magnified and John wants Chris’s body pressing him into the mattress, wants to feel Chris’s knot splitting him open. It’s not something he let himself want before Chris and it’s still exhilarating, the realization that he’s doing this, letting another alpha fuck him.

“You look so good like this,” Chris tells him, pressing a kiss to the middle of his back before he bites John’s ass playfully; he just laughs when John yelps and moves enough to glare half-heartedly over his shoulder at him. “Turn over for me, babe,” he adds, squeezing John’s ass again.

John feels himself flush even redder as he moves around and settles on his back; it’s not the first time Chris’s seen him like this, naked and hard, knot already visible at the base of his cock, flushed from his forehead down to his thighs. 

Chris has seen him on his knees, choking himself on Chris's cock, whining for more while Chris pulls his hair and tells him how pretty he is, how good he looks sucking dick; Chris loves to run his mouth when they’re having sex, and once he figured out how much John liked it, he only got filthier.

John lets out a breathy moan when Chris’s fingers tease his rim, a light touch that makes John growl when Chris just kisses his jaw and doesn’t do anything else. 

“You’re so impatient, Johnny,” Chris tells him, his smirk just mean enough that it makes John whine softly, unable to stop himself; Chris knows him so well, knows when John wants to be teased and called names, even if John can’t always bring himself to ask for it. “Can’t wait for me to get my knot in you, can you, baby? 

“You’re so easy for it,” Chris adds, slowly working one finger into John; he trails biting kisses down John’s neck and presses gently at the bruise from earlier that was already turning a dark purple, it makes John moan loudly, unsure if he wants to move into the pain or away from it. “I could do whatever I want and you would beg for more, isn’t that right?”

Chris adds another finger and cuts off any response that John may have given when he presses against John’s prostate; Chris kisses him roughly, biting at his lips until John’s panting for air. “I should just fuck you now,” Chris goes on, his hand sliding up to fist in John’s hair and hold him still when he tries to turn his face away, to hide how much he needs from Chris; John stares up at Chris, his face flushed deep red, want pounding through his system and unable to stop the noise he lets out when Chris slides three fingers into his hole. “You’re such a slut for my knot, you don’t need to be stretched any more, do you, baby?”

“No, just fuck me now, please,” John begs, whining low in his throat; they usually didn’t fuck if there was a game the next day, but in the middle of their bye week, they didn’t have to worry about games or practices and John wants this, wants it to hurt a little: to feel it every time he moves, to know it’s because of Chris. He likes the kind of ache that comes from being well-fucked and knotted, something he hadn’t experienced before Chris and that he wants whenever they get a chance now. “I want it, _please_.”

Chris growls again and kisses John before he pulls his fingers out, leaving John feeling empty and even more desperate. “Don’t worry, baby, you won’t be empty for long,” he promises him when John growls at the loss and presses a kiss to John’s jaw before he pulls away and reaches for the lube.

Chris pours a decent amount onto his palm and tosses it onto the floor before he focuses back on John; he strokes himself a couple times to spread the lube around and smirks when John makes a small noise at the sight of Chris’s knot, visible at the base of his cock but not as big as John knew it would get. “I love how easy you are for it, Johnny,” Chris tells him, leans down to bite playfully at John’s nipple and presses a soothing kiss to the sensitive skin when John moans at the feeling.

He presses the tips of his fingers to John’s rim, barely any pressure at all, not even enough to slip inside his hole and John can’t help the growl he lets out, frustrated by Chris’s teasing. 

It doesn’t phase Chris, he just laughs and rubs his cheek against John’s, nudges his nose against the underside of John’s jaw, mixing their scents even more; John doesn’t even pretend to fight it, just tips his head back so his throat’s bared to whatever Chris wants to do. Chris lets out a pleased rumble and trails biting kisses down the exposed skin, before he bites down almost abruptly where John’s neck meets his shoulder; it makes John curse and grab at Chris’s upper arms, the pain-pleasure of it almost too much when he’s this keyed up.

It’s almost exactly where a bond-bite would be and the realization makes John whimper, Chris’s name falling from his lips with the kind of need that usually only shows up during his ruts. 

Chris moves his hand to John’s thigh, his grip tight when he pushes John’s leg up and to the side so he’s spread out and vulnerable, open and ready for Chris to fuck him; John knows he’s already red, almost a full body flush that happens when he’s this turned on, but he feels even warmer now, burning hot to the touch and dying to get fucked, and anyone who saw him like this would know it.

John opens his mouth to beg again, but before he can say anything Chris is fucking into him, a slow, careful thrust that seems to go on forever and always makes John’s breath catch, no matter how many times they do this. He squeezes his eyes shut, feeling overwhelmed in the best way at being filled like this.

“You feel so good, baby,” Chris tells him, threading his hand through John’s hair and kissing him roughly. “So warm and tight around me, fuck, I love it,” he goes on when he pulls back to breathe and presses another quick kiss to the underside of John’s jaw.

John whines at the words, can’t help how much he loves hearing Chris say them to him; he feels strung out, close to the edge and ready to break, and Chris hasn’t even started moving yet. John opens his eyes when Chris rubs his cheek against John’s jaw, scenting him while he waits for John to tell him he’s ready. “Chris, please, I need you to.”

Chris presses one more kiss to his mouth and then he starts to move, still using slow and measured thrusts that work John up even more, until he’s scratching at Chris’s shoulders to try and make him move faster. It works, but John thinks it’s only because Chris wants to indulge him, because he’s capable of making John wait for what seems like hours when they’re both in the mood for it.

It doesn’t last long, not once Chris wraps his hand around John’s cock and strokes him a couple times before sliding down and squeezing John’s knot; it makes John come almost immediately, blacking out from how intense it is.

John blinks his eyes open when he feels Chris shift to pull out, his knot tugging on John’s room. “No, don’t,” John says, the words almost slurring together; his limbs feel useless and clumsy when he tries to move them, he succeeds in wrapping a leg around Chris’s waist and his hands on Chris shoulders. He tugs Chris closer to him or at least tries to convey that’s what he’s trying to do. “I want you to knot me.”

“Fuck, Johnny,” Chris growls, pressing a kiss to John’s mouth before buries his face in John’s neck, setting his teeth in the skin while he fucks John, his thrusts uneven and rough; it hurts, but John likes it anyway, the way it makes him feel scraped raw, how it’s too much and still not enough, not when he knows what it feels like to be knotted. 

Chris comes then, his knot stretching John open, the painful ache of it mixing with pleasure when Chris shifts a little and his knot presses against John’s prostate; unless he’s in a rut, it’s too soon for John to come again, but he still relishes the intense way it feels, being split open on Chris knot because they both want it.

The feeling fades a little bit, because more of a background sensation once Chris recovers enough to help shuffle them around so they‘re laying down face-to-face; it’s easier to cuddle this way while they wait for the tie to finish, close enough that they can scent each other or talk without having to try and move too much. 

“Love you,” Chris tells him quietly, pressing a kiss to John’s jaw before he tips his head back so John can scent him.

It’s not the first time they’ve said it to each other, but it still sends a thrill through John to hear those words, to know that Chris means them. 

“I love you, too,” John says and rubs his cheek along Chris’s jaw.


End file.
